


By a Thread

by AngryPirateHusbands



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Development, Coping, Developing Relationship, Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 13:26:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8802598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngryPirateHusbands/pseuds/AngryPirateHusbands
Summary: After the events at Charlestown, Flint has begun to push Silver away.





	

John Silver recognized that it would be a difficult day from the start. Ever since those eyes opened to see the warm morning sunlight filtering through the large bay windows and he felt that familiar twang in his stump. It wasn't just the pain. Not just the warmth that warned of an oncoming infection, not simply the persistent, insatiable itch in the heel of a foot that was no longer there. The muscles above the amputation ached in a way they hadn't quite before. He wasn't just uncomfortable, he was restless. Being that it had only been a few weeks since Charlestown and he had only just been allowed to wander from the captain's cabin, and even then it required the assistance of two crutches, there was little to be done about it.

The man all but refused to indulge in the opium or laudanum offered by Howell. While a part of him sensed that Flint knew he had deceived him in regards to the Urca gold, he wasn't certain. Ever since they had sailed from the colony the captain had become unreadable. Silver was quite the perceptive man. Being able to read others was a talent he had long perfected since his youth, and it was one he was exceptionally proud of. But now... The hardened expressions he had grown familiar with and seen beneath time and time again were now a mystery to him. As such, he wouldn't risk an opium haze loosening his lips. Not when he had finally secured his future. No matter how far from desirable it was.

Silver had spent the majority of the day either reading or sleeping. Sometime during the afternoon he had managed a few minutes up on deck, stretching what limbs remained, before exhaustion forced him back to the confines of his latest prison. In retrospect he supposed he should have been grateful. Flint could have easily allowed him to take his recovery below decks, either on the bench in Howell's room or the hammocks with the other men. Instead he had granted him the use of his private cabin. Given how much he _knew_ his presence agitated the man, even during their illicit affair, this was nothing short of a surprise. As such he refused to squander what could only be considered a golden opportunity. The pillows were lumpy and the blanket frayed and scratchy, but even so this makeshift bed was far more comfortable than the canvas hammock had ever been. Not to mention Flint's impressive collection of books was now at his disposal.

Yet a part of himself was left wanting. Ever since Charlestown Flint's presence had become scant. Despite this being Flint's cabin he rarely stepped through the doorway except for when necessary, whether that be to look over their current course or bed down for the evening. It went without saying that their physical relationship had also come to an abrupt halt. Not that that wasn't to be expected. They were both grieving their own individual losses and were therefore rarely in the mood for a tryst. Even so Silver found himself missing their closeness. He ached for it. For the softened kisses, the lingering touches. Even the man's simple presence in their shared cabin would relieve a degree of the tension that had been steadily building.

Of course, things were never so simple.

Flint was avoiding being in close contact with him, that much was certain. Whether it was due to the knowledge of his lie or for some other reason, he unfortunately had no idea. And so Silver would bide his time. He would allow his gaze to linger over the man as he sat dutifully at his desk, hunched over an array of charts and maps as his quill flowed over some parchment that was always set to the side. In his mind he would pretend that the invisible barrier that separated them was no longer there. He would envision his fingers combing through the copper tresses only to tighten his grip as their lips came together. He'd remember the dry warmth of the man's skin beneath his palms, the way that milky complexion flushed pink as their clothing was hurriedly shed. He would remember the sight of the captain above him. Strong and beautiful with that positively wild look in his eyes. As if he wished for nothing more than to consume him in his entirety. And Silver knew he would gladly let him do just that.

When Silver awoke the cabin was mostly shrouded in darkness. The only light came from the moon that resided high in the night sky. The soft beams streamed through the window panes to stretch over the desk and the floorboards beyond it. The faint glow was calming in a way. Strangely warm and comforting, as if he were lying in bed in his home, something he had never known. The only thing that had ever come close was the orphanage where he had spent most of his youth. Most of his brothers understandably called the _Walrus_ home. While it would have been a simple and easy solution to attempt to fill that aching hole in his chest, he was unsure if he ever could. _Home_ was a place that was chosen, not a prison forced upon a man by some cruel stroke of fate or shoddy luck. Though he was now irreparably tied to this place, to the ship and to the crew, it felt no less foreign to him than when he had first stepped foot on its deck. Yet as his eyes traveled over to the bunk to take in Flint's sleeping form that thought arrested in his chest. During those months when the two of them shared a bed, even if only for a few hours, he felt as though he belonged. That he had finally found his place and that the world itself was his for the taking. But as the captain began to hold him at arm's length once more, that wonderful feeling had begun to fade.

Home, a family, a purpose. These were things Silver had come to understand just recently, and were things he had begun to associate with Flint. He _needed_ the man. And he longed for nothing more than for that need to be returned. That revelation alone was enough to anger the man. Silver had always relied on no one but himself, thought of nothing but securing his own survival and a hope of a future. The notion that he had begun to rely on another for these things, not out of necessity but rather desire, was unsettling at best.

Silver released an unsteady breath as he closed his eyes. Not simply in the hope of willing away these unwelcome thoughts, but to try and coax sleep's return. Unfortunately, as was the situation quite frequently as of late, he had no such luck. His mind was abuzz and the restlessness in his injured leg seemed to match. The throbbing in the mangled stump was one thing, but the twitches and spams up the muscle above it was nearly enough to drive him insane.

Eventually Silver gave up on trying to sleep, and with a huff he pushed himself up into a sitting position. His movements were careful and quiet as he swung his legs over the edge and reached into the dark for his crutches. Perhaps a short walk along the deck, if he could even consider his hobbling gait as such at this point, would be enough to satisfy his restlessness. As they were back at port in Nassau the ship was resting still upon the water. He also couldn't deny the allure of having no witnesses to his uncoordinated movement. Save of course for the watch, but beggars could rarely be choosers in this world.

Silver had just nearly managed to make it to the door when a voice cut through the darkness and caused him to stop in his tracks. "Silver." When the man in question looked back Flint was staring right back at him. The moonlight made his eyes stand out in the darkness, just as it did with the rest of his features. The captain didn't look tired or angry despite his clearly interrupted sleep. Instead, the lines that creased his forehead and the inward draw of his brows conveyed concern.

While Silver's lips parted he suddenly found himself having difficulty with his words. His mouth had gone dry. "My leg is hurting," he eventually reasoned. Unfortunately, the explanation sounded just as ridiculous in his head as it did coming out of his mouth.

"And so you thought a good solution would be to stumble around the main deck alone in the dark?"

Silver's mouth opened only to close again. He wanted to argue, it was second nature when it came to dealing with Flint, but right now he knew it was an arguement he would lose.

"Sit down," the captain continued. His tone held a certain finality that silenced any developing opposition for good.

With a rough sigh Silver conceded and made his way back to the window seat. By the time he had relaxed back against the cushions and leaned the crutches against the wall, Flint had brought to life one of the lamps on his desk. The orange glow was soft and warm as it lit even the far corners of the cabin.

"Did you clean the wound as Howell instructed?" Flint asked without looking at him.

"Of course I--"

_"Silver."_

The man swallowed as he averted his own gaze. "No.." he finally confessed.

"I'll go fetch him."

"No!" This time his voice contained an air of desperation, one that he hated instantly. He paused for a moment. Then, "Will you do it?" This has been the first day Howell had entrusted him with the care of his stump. And yet he couldn't find himself to do it. To look upon the mangled flesh this soon would only remind him of all he had lost. Not just his leg, his freedom, but what he had begun to cultivate with Flint before it all came crashing down.

The look Flint was casting at him now was one he had never seen before. Unease flickered in his eyes and his jaw was locked in place as he seemed to be warring with himself. His thumb fidgeted, rotating the ring on his forefinger before he eventually offered a curt nod of his head. Silver watched silently as the man gathered the pail of water, rags, bandages, and salve that rested at the far end of the window seat. Watched as the pirate captain that struck fear into the hearts of so many sank down to his knees to tend to his quartermaster. Silver could feel the way his breath stilled in his chest as those fingers undid the pin on his pant leg before gently bunching the fabric above his knee. His touch was light as he slowly unwound the bandages and set them aside. Silver braced himself as Flint dipped the cloth into the water, wringing it gently before beginning to clean along the stitches.

Almost immediately Silver drew in a harsh breath. His fingers gripped the edge of the window seat as pain shot up from the stump all the way to his hip. "Sorry," Flint offered. His voice was but a whisper. The man didn't say anything. No matter how careful Flint was, the amputation was far too fresh for this to be anything but painful. And yet he did his best to remain still and quiet as he watched him work. It was strange seeing the captain this way. In a gentle and caring light, as if he had been doing this for him all along. Soon enough the wound had been cleaned to Flint's satisfaction and he smeared a generous amount of salve against the tender skin. The mixture was wonderfully cool and soothing, and Silver found a soft exhale passing his lips. Flint didn't look up at him once. Instead he seemed completely focused on the task at hand. When he began to wind fresh linen bandages against the wound, winding up to wrap around his knee, Silver couldn't stop his curiosity.

"When did you learn to do this?" Silver had seen Flint attempt to bandage up his own wounds on more than one occasion, and the result had been shoddy at best. Now, however, he wound the bandages in a way that likened the doctor himself.

Flint noticeably paused before answering. As if he were considering whether or not to tell the truth. "I asked Howell to teach me.. The first few days after we left Charlestown and you hadn't yet regained consciousness."

Oh.

 _Oh._ Before he had opened his mouth and lied once again, and Flint began pushing him away.With tentative fingers Silver reached down to touch the crown of his head. A few locks of auburn hair had fallen free from the short queue during his sleep. Flint had just returned the pin to the folded up hem of his pant leg when that touch coaxed his gaze upwards.

"I'm sorry," Silver murmured. He didn't specify what exactly it was he felt warranted this apology. His hand in the gold's disappearance, certainly, but he would not offer that up unwarranted just in case Flint actually didn't know. But his acknowledgement went deeper than that. He had heard of what had become of Ms. Barlow, vague though it was. She had been Flint's last remaining tether to the life he had lived before piracy and now she was gone, lost. The gravity of her importance to him was apparent the first time he saw the way the captain gazed upon her. He had lost a friend, a partner, a lover. They had both had their worlds torn out from underneath their feet, and they both now stood on unsteady foundation. All they needed to do was reach out; to take that tether and steady the other against the rocky waves.

Flint's green eyes bore up into him, his stare calculating as he seemed to search Silver's face for something. Perhaps to see if the man was actually telling a shred of truth for a change. Whatever it was he seemed to have found it. While it lasted but a moment, their lips touched. Flint's fingers stroked along the edge of his jaw as they kissed, the contact soft, tender, and far too fleeting. Suddenly Flint moved to stand and immediately Silver reached out to grab his wrist. The man steadied, not pulling away yet not drawing any closer.

"Please," Silver asked. He swallowed down the lump in his throat before continuing to plead. "Stay here with me."

Flint paused for a moment as if weighing his options before finally giving in to his request. "Scooch down," he requested gently.

Silver more than happily obliged, drawing his healthy leg forward before pushing back against the window seat to move down and make room. Flint sat down beside him and maneuvered his injured leg so that the stump rested over the edge of his knee. The man's palms were warm over his clothed skin as they smoothed down his leg. He kneaded lightly over the muscles as if he could sense the tension and pain that had caused them to lock and spasm all day. As with everything, Flint seemed to know just what he was doing. The pads of his fingers moved in small circles, working the muscles with just the right amount of pressure to elicit a soft, contented sigh. Eventually Silver relaxed back against the pillows and closed his eyes. The last thing he felt before drifting back into sleep's embrace was the gentle, confident touch of the captain's hands massaging his leg. Briefly he felt fingers tuck a stray curl behind his ear, and then he heard the man whisper his given name.

_"Goodnight, John..."_

When Silver awoke he did so slowly. The first thing he noticed was a strange yet familiar weight resting against him. Then he noticed that both his legs were propped up on something. A pillow? Blue eyes cracked open as he blinked lazily against the feint light of the approaching dawn. There Flint sat at his feet, just where he had been the night before, with his leg and stump resting over his lap. The man's hands laid against the top of his thighs as he slept, his head dipped forward until his chin just barely touched against his collarbone. His chest rose and fell with each deep and gentle breath.

Silver could feel the smile pulling at the corner of his lips. He sank back deeply into the cushions as he simply gazed upon the man. He was unsure of what exactly had happened last night, yet one thing was certain. Whatever barrier had begun to develop between them since the events at Charlestown, it had begun to disperse, if only just. That tenderness, that trust that they had come to feel towards one another, it still lingered beneath the surface. And even if it hung by a single thread, Silver would grab it with both hands and hold tight. He wouldn't lose James Flint. He couldn't, not now. He was the first person whose respect he craved, and whose trust he had resolved to earn back. And even if it took the rest of his life, he would ensure that thread would not break, but would instead grow and develop into an intricate tapestry.


End file.
